


Ambrosia

by LiberaMeDelailah



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Farewell Wanderlust is here, How Do I Tag, I'm Sorry, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, there is a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberaMeDelailah/pseuds/LiberaMeDelailah
Summary: You don't know it yet, but I'm the cupid of thingsThat you just didn't get, that you struggled to sayI'm the saint of the paint that was left in the potI'm your angel ellipsis, your devil of dots.Farewell Wanderlust, The Amazing Devil.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 151





	Ambrosia

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Twitter.  
> I'm absolutely sorry.

_You do not know it yet, but I am the cupid of things_

_That you just did not get, that you struggled to say._

Geralt stood on the ground of a clearing in Brokilon, looking up to the sky. Eithné requested from him a favor that he could not deny – to hunt a Treant that had gone Berserk. The Witcher had done as asked, using Igni to easily vanish the pitiful creature, who had only lost control due to the Dryad that summoned it dying in battle against bandits.

He tried to be merciful with it, even kind. It was not the creature’s fault to be left alone and afraid in a world that seemed so cold and distant. Geralt dispatched it, almost feeling pity as he saw the creature’s body turn to ashes. He stood there, for a few minutes – silently regarding the panorama. The creature was lonely, he could feel it in the air, and it was afraid.

After a few more minutes washed away by silence, Geralt uttered a prayer for the rest of the souls of the departed, and then he parted, returning to the Dryads – knowing full well that once his job was done, he would be asked to leave the Forest as fast as possible; such was the law of Brokilon.

* * *

Eithné sat on her abode, her white hair falling around her as a cascade, contrasting against her skin green as the forest itself. “Is it done?”

“Done.”

The Queen of Brokilon inhaled deeply, leaning back against her throne made of branches from the trees that surrounded the cottage. “A favor owed; a favor paid.”

“Indeed. Shall I leave immediately?”

“Please.” Her voice was cold, her eyes distant. It probably hurt, having lost so many to the Treant – Geralt knew she was grateful, but gratefulness was difficult for the Queen of the Dryads, as it was for humans. “I shall provide food for your travels. Gwynbleidd, you know your ways through the woods. May they guide you safely back to the world outside of Brokilon.”

“May my assistance never be required again, Eithné.”

“Let the spirits of the Forest hear you, Geralt. Let the wind carry your prayer.” She said sadly, defeated.

* * *

Geralt made camp after a few hours of walking. He found himself missing Roach immediately as the night began to take over the sky. It was nights such as this one, where Geralt’s mind would wander to places of darkness and fear – nights where his only company was his thoughts, especially after a hunt such as today’s.

The creature, the Treant… It wallowed in sadness as it looked around in the Forest, without guide, without light. He related to the creature, in its sadness, in the void he could not fill. He pitied it; in a way he did not dare pity himself.

Geralt closed his eyes, and slept, laying in the cold, hard ground – above him, he was showered by moonlight.

* * *

The Witcher was suddenly awoken, his instincts reacting to something new in the ambience that had not been there before.

There was a sound, like the winds howling, or like the flapping of a harpy, nearby Geralt. The Witcher was confused, for Brokilon’s fauna was not known for winged animals, but for Treants and Giant Centipedes.

Geralt sharpened his hearing, paying attention to the flapping of the wings as they got ever closer to where he was laying. Hungry? Was the creature hungry? Perhaps. But it did not sound like it was approaching with the intention of attacking, for its movement sounded calm and collected as it grew nearer.

The sound died after a few more minutes, changing to small steps on the ground below the creature’s feet. Geralt could smell its scent in the air – pine, chamomile, vanilla. The steps were close now, too close, and yet, the Witcher did not feel intimidated, nor did he feel threatened.

He felt a hand atop of his eyes, filled with callouses – a hand that felt strangely human, for a creature that was able to fly. “Don’t look.” The creature whispered. The voice was that of a man. Geralt’s own grip went to the creature’s wrist, grasping it.

“Don’t. Let me see you.” The voice above him whispered. There were a few moments of silence, in which not even the forest made a sound, and then, there was a sigh that escaped the lips of the creature – man? Atop of Geralt. “Beautiful. Beautiful. _Beautiful._ ” He sounded infatuated, almost desperate – in a way Geralt had never heard before. The Witcher felt himself grow warm, and the hand he had on the man’s wrist softened. “Yes, yes. How can this world mistreat you? Oh, if they could only see…”

Geralt felt the man as he laid on top of him. With him, wings came to surround them, serving as a shield from the world around them, already darkened by night. “I’ve seen you.” The voice whispered; the man’s breath millimeters away from Geralt’s lips. “Don’t look. Don’t _look._ ” 

The Witcher kept his eyes closed as the creature above him sealed their lips together – and the creature drank from him. The way their mouths danced with one another burn, but in a way that Geralt lacked the words to describe. 

“Don’t look” Murmured the voice as his lips traced lines around Geralt’s face, gracing Geralt's jaw. “But let me see you.”

_In the way they do not._

There was a pause, an awkward silence, a void in the sounds around the two of them – waiting. The creature was waiting. “Yes.” Geralt whispered, squeezing his eyes close. He felt the man atop of him sigh, relieved, and then he began to move, his nose gracing along his stubble. “But your name… What do I call you?”

Quietness once against filled the air, the only sound the kiss splattered by Geralt’s skin. “You may call me Jaskier, Geralt.” The man once again raised his palm to cover the Witcher’s eyes – the white-haired man wondered, with a numbed curiosity, how did this creature… this man, this monster, knows his name. He realized, somewhere deeply, that perhaps this was a trap, an enchantment – but that voice was quieted once Jaskier’s lips once again dove down to meet with Geralt’s.

The Witcher was used to this dance, but he had never kissed with this fervor – in a way that left his hands trembling as they took hold onto Jaskier’s wings, bringing a moan out of the entity’s lips. The hand in Geralt’s eyes went lower, resting in the Witcher’s neck and grasping, squeezing softly. Jaskier’s calloused hands danced around his chest, freeing the Witcher slowly from his restraints.

“Look at you…” the creature cooed, his lips kissing a trail from Geralt’s chin to his neck. “Moonlight could never compare with you.” Jaskier bit on the Witcher’s neck, hard enough to draw a moan from the depths of Geralt’s chest. “If _Aphrodite_ —Melitele, as you know her, could hear you. Dear, she would keep you, pet, forever.”

Geralt stiffened a groan by biting his lower lip, while he felt Jaskier’s hands rest atop of his pecs, caressing them in slow, deliberate circles. After a minute or so, maybe after an hour, he pinched Geralt’s nipples, hard. The Witcher screamed, his back arching as he raised his hips, looking for friction. It was at that moment that he noticed – once Jaskier sat over his thighs to keep him from moving – the man was completely naked already. At the realization, Geralt could not help but try to moan, keeping it quieted only by the bite on his lower lip.

Jaskier licked over his mouth, his fingers coming up to the Witcher’s lips, prying them open with his thumb. _“ No monster will come, let me hear you.”_ The creature rested his finger over Geralt’s tongue, licking around it – the Witcher groaned, once again trying to raise his hips. “Be a dear. Stay.”

The white-haired man heard clothes ripping, and he felt warm hands running through his biceps as he was freed from the restraints of his chemise. “J-Jaskier.” He tried to open his eyes, only to be pressed against the ground harder by the creature atop of him, two hands flying to cover his field of view. “Don’t look, Geralt. Don’t _look_.”

Geralt nodded, desperate, and felt a pair of lips kiss his cheekbones. Jaskier moaned as he took in the Witcher’s scent. “ _You yearn so much._ How can someone love this deeply and not be loved in return.” The creature whispered, and then, his lips crashed against Geralt’s once again.

Intoxicating, that was what Jaskier was. Geralt opened his mouth, welcomed his lover’s tongue, tasting the sweetest of wines. Jaskier’s hands went lower still, caressing all they could on their way to Geralt’s waistbands. “D-Don’t rip them.”

There was a tut, but Jaskier complied nonetheless, delicately opening each of the buttons in Geralt’s pants, nuzzling gently the cock hidden underneath the Witcher’s undergarments. “Look at you.” Jaskier whispered – then, he took Geralt’s hands and settled them atop of his hair – it’s soft, Geralt thought, as his trembling fingers fondled through strands.

The creature freed the Witcher’s cock from his undergarments, admiring the length, the girth. He was thick, and long – standing gorgeously tall. Geralt heard a chuckle, soft, fond, and felt a breath tickle the head of his dick. “Don’t move.” The entity ordered kindly, and that was all the warning he had before he was swallowed whole – a nose rubbing against Geralt’s pubic hair and the Witcher screamed – a howl ripped from deep within his very soul.

Jaskier moved mercilessly, his tongue circling the head every so often, before heading back down again – while one of his hands held onto Geralt’s hips, keeping him unmoving as the Witcher struggled to keep himself from spilling right then and there – it had been so long. He felt as the creature fondled his balls – holding and caressing the point where they met with his shaft. “I’m—”

An amused, if somehow stifled chuckle filled Geralt’s ears, and then Jaskier was off his dick with the most obscene of sounds. “Come down my throat.” Was all he said, before swallowing Geralt once again… And the Witcher did – an orgasm yanked from the depths of his being – a small, straggled sound came from his mouth as he tried to moan something like Jaskier’s name.

The creature kept on sucking and licking until Geralt cried from oversensitivity and pulled Jaskier off by the hair. The entity, kind, went along, coming up to the Witcher’s lips, kissing him with the taste of seed still lingering in his tongue. After a few languid kisses, Jaskier sat up. “Raise your hips, darling.”

Easily, Geralt allowed his pants to come completely off. He was exposed, his eyes closed as he felt the gaze of the creature linger hungrily in his figure. The Witcher opened his thighs, offering the creature a feast for his eyes.

“I’ll ruin you.” Jaskier snarled, lowering himself over Geralt and thrusting his hard dick against the Witcher’s hip – biting, hard, over his lover’s shoulder. “ _Keep your eyes closed._ ”

After that, it was easy to get lost in the tempo created by the creature. Jaskier buried his fingers, lavished with both saliva and Jaskier’s precum – keeping up a slow, delicate pace, gentle, stimulating Geralt until the Witcher was screaming. Then, once the white haired was loose and panting, begging, only then Jaskier raised to his knees, bringing Geralt’s heels up to his shoulders. “ _I’ll ruin you._ ”

Jaskier lined himself against Geralt’s rim – one hand covering the Wither’s eyes as he began to thrust – soon, the tip of the creature’s dick was inside. “ _Jaskier!!”_

“Yes, yes, yes, darling.” He thrusted again, deeper, harder, sharper. Geralt met each thrust, and he was sure he was feeling Jaskier in his throat. “Look at you, a miracle – look at you, so warm, you were made for a _God’s dick_.”

That last piece of information did not register in Geralt’s pleasure-dazed mind – all he could feel was the friction each time Jaskier’s cock slimmed over his prostate. The Witcher babbled, moaning things akin to Jaskier’s name but not quite. The creature’s free hand roamed, pinching his lover’s nipple, caressing his shoulder, before heading down and grasping his already weeping cock. “So hard for me already, _so pretty._ ”

And it was just so easy, so darn simple. Geralt felt his body begin to tremble, the hand on his dick moving in time with each of Jaskier’s thrusts. He felt his orgasm low in his abdomen, he felt it in the tightening of his balls… “Almost, _almost…_ ”

“Come on darling, come on, _give me this yearning of yours_.”

Geralt's whole world was torn asunder – he shrieked, a sound so high, so distinct of his usual voice he could not recognize it. He was shaking, his entire body burning as he lost himself in the sensation. He could feel Jaskier coming deep inside him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears while he kissed his cheek, still covering his eyes with a trembling hand. “All of your prayers shall be answered, each night I’ll come to you, but you have got to trust me, and keep your eyes closed.”

With a mind half lost to pleasure, Geralt nodded.

_I am the saint of the paint that was left in the pot_

_I'm your angel ellipsis, your devil of dots_

**Author's Note:**

> And thank you for reading! Honestly this was based off the myth of Psyche and Eros (or Cupid).  
> I don't write smut often... if at all. I get absolutely shy and I scream while writing a LOT.  
> I'm very grateful that you guys read it, truly!


End file.
